She sat across from me, firelight on her face.

  Didn’t want to explain, but I kept asking.

  Finally she said it — six disciplines. That’s what they call magic here.

  I wrote the words down so I don’t lose them: Alchemy. Enhancement. Enchantment. Conjuring. Summoning. Invocation.

  Names heavy in my mouth.

  She said Alchemy is mixing. Leaves, smoke, bottles. When Myla does it, she looks like a street cook back home. On Earth it’d be science. Here it’s survival.

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  Enhancement’s the body one. Grinsh showed me without meaning to. Glow in his arms, red veins when he swings. She said it eats you alive if you push too far. Same as steroids I seen back home. Strong now, broken later.

  Enchantment — she wrinkled her nose at that. Said it’s putting power into steel, armor, walls. I thought of duct tape. Hold it together until it rips. She don’t trust it. Neither do I.

  Conjuring. She made fire-serpent out of nothing. Said it wasn’t real, but when it snapped its jaws, I flinched. Fake or not, when teeth close, you move.

  Summoning — her voice went flat there. Call things from outside. Spirits. Beasts. Worse. I didn’t ask. Didn’t want to know.

  And Invocation… she almost whispered that one. Said it means carrying gods. Or demons. Or both. Vessel that burns bright and breaks fast.

  I don’t understand it all. Half the words fall out of my head before I can hold them.

  But I remember the fire in her hand, the light bending into a wall.

  Smooth. Controlled. Like she belongs to it.

  When I tried, mine cracked. Wild. Like sparks from a busted lighter.

  She laughed. Not mean. Just sharp. First time I heard her laugh.

  Maybe I’ll never learn the six ways like she has.

  But maybe… copying her is enough.